


When you meet someone who can cook and do housework, don't hesitate a minute - marry him.

by officerstilinskihale



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blame my brain, Fluff, I'm Sorry, M/M, Ok bye, this is so bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officerstilinskihale/pseuds/officerstilinskihale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles & Derek are getting married. Stiles, predictably, has a melt-down.</p><p>Sheriff/Stiles feels, more than anything. But a bit of fluff.</p><p>I'M SORRY.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When you meet someone who can cook and do housework, don't hesitate a minute - marry him.

**Author's Note:**

> The only good thing from this story doesn't belong to me (screw you Jeff Davis).
> 
> However, I do own all the mistakes (it's unbeta'd), the plot and the god-awful writing skill.

Stiles eyed the door warily while slowly inching his way towards the window behind. Despite his utter inability to stay steady on his own two feet, sober or otherwise, Stiles was sure he would survive the three-foot drop into the bushes below with minor injuries.

He hoped.

Pushing the window open with one hand, Stiles took one final glance over his shoulder at the door before attempting to climb up and out the window. Softly muttering angry curses at Lydia for making him wear the ridiculous tux, his complaints about how it was hindering his escape plan morphed into a loud, unmanly shriek when the door flew open. The Sheriff took one look at his son, who was currently straddling the windowsill; his belt loop caught onto its latch, and shook his head.

“Tell Derek that Stiles is fine,” he called out to no one in particular and Stiles heard an annoyed growl coming from… Was that Scott? Or Isaac? Stiles was placing his bets on Scott. But his best man had no right to complain about Derek being overprotective over Stiles, who was as accident-prone as a blind turkey minus the _gobble-gobble_ and the squawking. Well, okay, he did a bit of squawking but that wasn’t the point because Scott often made love ballads about Allison’s freckles that had Stiles gagging into Derek’s shoulder for weeks on end, which was so much lamer than anything Stiles had done in his life. Or his past lives. Whatever.

Stiles heard the Sheriff sigh in resignation as he shut the door and turned to face his son.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles’ eyes darted to his current predicament and then to his dad’s face, their eyes meeting for a brief second before Stiles tore his gaze away guiltily back to where his pants were stuck on the window.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Stiles said, letting out a nervous chuckle and running a hand through his cropped hair, “Why would you think that?” His father’s unamused expression did not change and Stiles sighed before lifting his leg back into the room and hopping around like a rabbit on a hot plate to free his belt loop. Once he had freed himself, he collapsed onto one of the white (“Cream,” the Lydia in his head snapped.) couches in the room and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard his father walk towards the couch and a couple of seconds later, felt what he supposed was a reassuring pat on his head but kind of made him feel like a two year old.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Stiles. Weddings… They’re,” there was a slight pause as the Sheriff swallowed, “great. Really great.” Stiles opened his eyes to see his dad looking past him and towards the patterned wallpaper of the room. Stiles pulled on his father’s arm until the latter settled on the couch next to him. Taking a deep breath, Stiles asked quietly,

“What was yours like?”

The Sheriff looked at him and then back to wall, staying silent. Stiles looked down at his hands and shuffled on the couch, trying to get comfortable.

“Your mother looked beautiful,” the Sheriff finally said, “I don’t remember much of the ceremony, I was too busy staring at her. I do remember our vows though, she was crying as she said it because we’d written our own and your mother’s always been a bit of a romantic.” Stiles cracked a smile because that’s what he had done with Derek after hours and hours of Stiles pushing. Stiles’ dad looked at him and smiled fondly.

“You got that from her,” he added softly, “And you have her eyes.” Another pause ensued before the Sheriff let out a little chuckle and looked at Stiles.

“The reception was embarrassing, we had our first dance and I might’ve stepped on the train of her dress. Predictably, she lost her balance and knocked over our cake,” at this point Stiles had burst into laughter, “and that’s not the best part. She was still falling and I tried to catch her before she hit the ground but of course we just ended up on the floor, our faces absolutely covered in frosting.”

“Oh my god, dad, that sounds like something I would do,” Stiles blurted before slapping his hand over his mouth, “Please tell me I didn’t just jinx myself. Jackson and Lydia would never let me live that down. After Lydia murders me for ruining all her hard work.”

“I’m sure Derek would be able to catch you,” his dad snorted, rolling his eyes, “Otherwise his heightened senses would be useless and I’m pretty sure he’d come out looking like an even worse werewolf than Scott. And we all know that’s saying something.” Stiles gasped, his hand dropping to his heart as his eyes widened in mock horror.

“If he doesn’t,” his father continued, oblivious, “we turned it into a food fight anyway and it was still one of the best days of my life. Everything will be fine.” Stiles felt his chest tighten as he saw his dad’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. Reaching over, he pulled his father into a hug and blinked furiously to stop his own tears from falling.

“Thanks, dad,” he mumbled quietly, “I just wish she could be here.” The Sheriff pressed a soft kiss to his son’s temple and rubbed Stiles’ back soothingly.

“So do I, son,” the Sheriff replied gently, “If anything, she wishes she could be here as well. She would have been so proud of you; she loved you more than anything. We both do. And you’ve made us both so proud. You’ve had to grow up so quickly and I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. You’ve done well, kid. I love you and so does your mother. She’ll always be watching over you. Always. And she would have loved Derek to pieces.” Stiles choked on a sob and felt his dad squeeze him just a little bit tighter.

“I’m sorry for everything I put you through, dad,” he said, in between breaths, “I’m sorry for all the stealing of police equipment and the lies and the underage–“

“Stiles,” his dad said sharply, pulling away to look him in the eye, “Don’t bring that up. Ever.”

“I was going to say underage drinking,” Stiles amended quickly, his face flushing a bright red, “You’re the best dad ever.” The Sheriff shook his head, his mouth curved up into a smile and Stiles rubbed his face clear of any tears.

“I’m really happy for you, son. Derek is a,” the Sheriff winced, “good person. He’s dodgy as all hell; don’t get me wrong, but a good person nonetheless. Someone really good for you.” Stiles slapped his dad on the arm, barking out a short laugh before he sat upright, his eyes wide.

“What is it?” his dad asked, one hand on his wrist, giving Stiles a little shake. Stiles ignored him, his brain zeroing on the fact that while Stiles had lost his mother, he still had his dad while Derek had… no one. If he was feeling this bad about not having his mother here, Derek must be feeling about a million times worse. Stiles knew that under Derek’s stoic “I’m-a-manly-man-I-don’t-have-feelings-and-my-grunts-turn-you-on-anyway-Stiles-so-shut-up-and-stop-complaining” mask, he was about as emotional as Stiles. Whilst drunk. Possibly even more so.

And if Derek ever tried to deny it, Stiles would bring up that one time when Derek had stolen Amaya’s (Scott and Allison’s daughter) wolf plushie and only agreed to give it back if Stiles allowed Derek to be the little spoon for a week. It had taken Stiles only a couple of minutes to get over the shock of that revelation, which was a significant improvement on how long it took him to get over the fact that Derek liked to cuddle (six hours of “Really, Derek? Awww, that’s so cute! Seriously, I think we should get married.” and then Derek had complained about that being the most unromantic proposal ever made in the history of man, resulting in Stiles responding with a “Well you were probably going to ask me during sex and there’s no way I’m telling any of our friends or MY FATHER that story so this is the only proposal you’re getting, take it or leave it.” and Derek had shut him up with a kiss, which Stiles took to be a yes.).

Earth to Stiles, he needed to get back to the situation on hand.

Sometimes, Stiles really hated how his brain went off on random tangents that made no sense. It was kind of like the way Scott could link everything and anything someone said to Allison and then spent an hour waxing poetic about–

No, Stiles. Focus.

Derek.

Stiles turned to his dad, who was still studying him with a worried expression.

“I need to see him,” he said, getting up on his feet. The Sheriff stood up as well, straightening Stiles’ bowtie and brushing lint off his shoulders. Reaching in for another quick hug, Stiles spun on his heel and dashed out the door, nearly crashing into Lydia who gave him the filthiest death glare known to man, wilting his balls.

Derek didn’t have shit on Lydia Martin.

“Don’t run,” she hissed viciously, “You’ll wrinkle your suit!” They glared at each other for a long moment before Stiles declared defeat; raising a metaphorical white flag by standing up straight and speed walking to the room Derek was in. Looking over his shoulder at Lydia, he saw her smirking at him and he rolled his eyes, not even wanting to hear her comments on how he looked.

“I regret nothing,” he called out and walked into Derek’s room before shutting the door to her musical laughter.

“Stiles.” At Derek’s voice, Stiles turned around and his breath caught in his throat. In a few hours, _that_ would be all his. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Stiles rubbed his head and shot Derek a weak smile.

“I kind of don’t want to stand next to you, you’ll make me look like an ugly noodle. And the pictures, god, no pictures. Ever.” Derek shook his head fondly and came over to press a chaste kiss to Stiles’ lips.

“I love you,” he murmured and Stiles melted into Derek’s embrace. Derek just knew what to say to turn him into a puddle of feelings. Rubbing his cheek against Derek’s stubble, Stiles let out a contented sigh.

“I love you so freaking much, ugh. Derek. I hate you. Seriously though. I hate you. You make me feel like an emotional three year old. An emotional three year old _girl_ ,” he emphasized, “I just hate you.” Derek snorted and tweaked Stiles’ nose.

“You’ve always been an emotional three year old girl,” he said bluntly, “although you tend to look a bit younger than that.”

Completely uncalled for.

“Rude,” Stiles pouted, the mock hurt disappearing into a laugh as Derek planted another kiss on his mouth, his tongue tracing the seam between his lips before Stiles let him in, humming happily. Derek pulled away too quickly, shooting Stiles an apologetic look and saying,

“Lydia will murder me if I wrinkle your suit.” Rolling his eyes, Stiles ruffled Derek’s soft hair and turned towards the door when he heard it click open. Scott’s face peered into the room and his suspicious expression melted into one of relief when he saw that there was no one getting handsy before the ceremony started.

“Time to go,” he said, smiling at his best friend and his alpha. Derek looked at Stiles, who grinned at him, his hazel eyes shining.

“Ready?” Derek asks, the corners of his mouth crinkling. Stiles felt giddy with happiness, knowing it was his entire fault Derek could smile without looking like he wanted to bite someone’s head off. Although they should _really_ work on the crazed serial killer thing that was going on in his eyes. But they had all the time in the world for that.

_This is actually happening._

“Ready,” he replied softly, taking Derek’s hand in his, their fingers intertwining as they walked out the door to where everyone was waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! It's my first fic in like five years and my first TW fic so it's probably awful.
> 
> Constructive criticism would be really helpful but don't lay on the insults too thickly, I don't have enough tubs of ice cream to cry into.
> 
> Until next time lovely's!


End file.
